


Silence of the Lambs

by Arciam



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types, The Silence of the Lambs (1991)
Genre: About as much as in the series, Also some original characters, Clarice is not a killer though, F/M, Gen, He's jaded but he's stable, M/M, Mentions of minor characters, Murder Family 2.0, Not yet anyway - Freeform, Paternal Will, Paternal-ish Hannibal, Post-Red Dragon Will, Slight Hannigram - Freeform, That means mauled Will
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-14
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-15 16:48:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 17,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1312078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arciam/pseuds/Arciam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Will simply nodded. He was not so much interested in her potential as an FBI agent. He watched her do another lap and let her nature sink in. She seemed smart enough, which was a plus, but most importantly, she had that kind of bright naivety to her that cast her own shadow sharply around her. Or so she believed. A looming darkness for no one to see and for her to hide.</p><p>In some ways, much like Abigail. In some ways, much like Will himself, once.</p><p>Hannibal would like her."</p><p>A reinterpretation of what the "Silence of the Lambs" story might be like if it gets adapted for the TV series, since Bryan Fuller stated he would like Will to retain an important role, perhaps have him and Clarice team up.<br/>In this version, Claire Sterlain (because we all know she will never receive the name Clarice Starling) and her underlying similarities with Abigail Hobbs awaken memories of attempted fatherhood in Will, along with feelings of regret. Meanwhile, Hannibal just wants to have fun - opportunities are everywhere. And then there was that serial killer, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Responsible

**Author's Note:**

> I know reinterpretations are always treading dangerous grounds since they are much a matter of preference and head-canon, and this is my first venture into this ominous place too, so I am not quite sure what to expect of my dear readers. But I will trust you to be nice.  
> On an informative note, I warped the time gaps quite a bit for the story to make more sense - Hannibal had only been incarcerated for five years before the case of Francis Dolarhyde, in turn, there is a two-years gap between those events and the beginning of this story. There will be more timeline changes too, just FYI.

### Responsible

It was not much more than two years after the death of Francis Dolarhyde, the mauling of Will Graham's face, his physical recovery and subsequent divorce from his wife, the early retirement of Jack Crawford on account of feelings of guilt over what kind of harm he had managed to inflict upon his somewhat-friend over the course of only five years; it was then that a new face entered Will's lecture hall after class.

Strangely enough, the decision to take up teaching again had come to Will more easily than he had expected. He had expected to find himself in a corner of his home with a bottle of whiskey to make sure no part of his mind ever reached the surface of his consciousness again for the rest of his life. But as is, he felt too jaded - or strong, depending on who you asked - to truly wallow in misery the way he had wanted to. A bottle of whiskey did help in the evenings though, if nothing else then because the prominent scar on his face still tended to hurt like a bitch sometimes.

He also had to admit that he missed his family. Yet at the same time, he knew it was for the best to let them find a life far, far away from him. Oftentimes, he felt as though he had merely _taken_ a family anyway, rather than built one. When Molly had left, he had decided to be honest and told her just that, much to her incredulity. _"I just don't understand you!"_ she had cried, visibly hurt, and Will had felt an inclination to say _"I believe you can join the world about this"_ , had he not felt so heartbroken in that moment on behalf of her broken heart.

Will was either jaded, or strong, but he was here. He was teaching, continued living as best he could and used his mind only in limited quantities at a time.

"Will Graham? My name is Special Agent Drew Benson, I head the Behavioral Science Unit." the man introduced himself and Will faintly wondered if that was a given introduction specifically taught to them during their inauguration. Other than the flowery phrase, though (because that was what it was; no one could possibly _mistake_ Will's face now), the man had very little in common with good ol' Jack. He was young and obviously new to the job. Eager to impress, eager to persuade, two things Will Graham had learned to be very wary of.

"In case you're confused, I could turn around a little so you'll have a better view of my cheek. What is it?" he asked, mostly unperturbed while he put papers back in his bag.

As intended, it stumped the other enough to tone down the eagerness. Benson cleared his throat and sounded a lot more professional when he opened his mouth again.

"That won't be necessary. There is something I would very much like your help with."

Now here was a sentence Will had honestly never expected - nor hoped - to hear again. Nowadays, those who knew who he was always seemed to approach him with utmost caution, as though he was a wounded animal that might break down and cry if he was ever reminded of what he had been through. Perhaps they forgot there was a mirror in his bathroom.

"You need a profile? I won't do anything that requires me in the field but I might assist you if you can convince me." he finally faced Benson and made deliberately indifferent eye contact.

"Uhm, this is not about a profile _per se_...", Benson beat around the bush. "Have you heard about a killer commonly known as 'Buffalo Bill'?"

"Yes." Will answered sceptically, wondering where this was going if he wasn't needed for a profile.

"Turns out, there is a... former psychiatrist who has subtly indicated that a patient he once treated might have something to do with it, but he refuses to give any more information." the agent explained.

And really, that was all the explanation Will needed. He raised his gaze to the ceiling in a disbelieving manner and the bitter laugh he let out was so humourless that it merely served to come across as a snarl.

"You are fucking kidding me, aren't you." he asked Benson and the universe.

"Believe me, I wouldn't ask if I felt there was any other possibility at all." Benson assured him.

"Oh, I believe you. Belief is not the problem, neither is obligation, it is the sheer _nerve_ of you." Will growled. He was not really angered - too jaded for that -, but damn if he wasn't aggravated. He took a deep breath to calm himself. "It's been more than two years since my last visit - this" he motioned towards his face, "is what I got out of it last time he felt I'd _neglected_ him for too long."

"It... was a punishment for that?" Benson asked confusedly.

"No no, punishments are for the petty and the rude." Will replied airily. "He's just fond of proving a point."

Ignoring the raised eyebrow of the agent, he continued "So since I assume your question is whether or not I would like to see what I can get out of him myself, the answer is: No. I really don't."

However, persistence was apparently one of Benson's finer and infinitely more annoying traits. "But you are the only one who can."

Will shook his head "He wouldn't talk to me."

"From what I've heard, you two have a long history of talking."

"We do." the empath retorted. "Back in the day, shutting him up was the far bigger problem." On a more serious note, he added "It's not what I meant."

"Then what do you mean?"

Having packed up the very last of his things, Will leaned back and sighed.

"To be honest, I believe his interest in me has long since died down. For which, I'm not sure if I should feel slightly offended or incredibly grateful, but... yes, that's why he wouldn't talk to me. I'm exhausted ressources to him." he finished.

Benson nodded in understanding, or a semblance thereof, and only spoke up again after a while of silence. "Is there really nothing you could possibly do to assist us in this?"

Will was about to shake his head apologetically when a thought entered his mind. He contemplated it for a few moments, then asked

"...Could you show me your newbies?"


	2. Notion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For future reference, I based Claire's character - obviously - on Clarice Starling. However, there are strong influences from Abigail's character in her, as well as Miriam Lass, Freddie Lounds (her practicality mostly), Will Graham and some random originality thrown in between.  
> Furthermore, I openly took inspiration from "The Last Of Us" for the way Will's feelings of parental responsibility for Claire grow despite his best efforts. It might also explain her Ellie-like sassiness.

### Notion

"This is them." Drew Benson said as he motioned across the outdoor-premises where the FBI trainees were busy with physical exercise. He instinctively placed himself and thereby Will Graham close to the patch of lawn on which a bunch of male trainees were currently doing sit-ups.

"No, I mean the female." Will replied destractedly, casting his eyes over the place.

Taken aback only for a second, Benson pointed across the lawn to the back where the female trainees were running laps. Not missing a beat, Will began moving towards them until the two of them were close enough to discern the trainees, yet far enough not to draw their attention. For a few minutes, Will simply watched, making Benson curious.

"May I ask - why only females?"

"Hannibal Lecter is fond of young women." Will answered without taking his eyes off of said women. "He is fascinated with their struggle against odds in a male-dominated society. Other than myself, every person who has ever truly meant something to him was female, so he is more likely to divulge information to one. I believe he has a protective streak for them."

"Really?" Benson had a hard time containing his utter surprise. Protectiveness was not a concept easily aligned with Hannibal Lecter.

"Oh yes. Seven years ago he all but adopted one before he killed her and fed me her ear." said Will nonchalantly, earning himself a horrified look from Benson that he did not care to see. A lot of rumours and truths revolving around himself and Hannibal had been circling within the FBI, carefully passed down from year to year, ranging way back to the case of the Minnesota Shrike. However, the story about the ear had apparently seemed too grotesque to ever be taken seriously and fester, even as a rumour.

Suddenly, something caught Will's eye. He would not be able to tell afterwards what exactly it was, but it was definitely _something_.

"What's her name?" he asked Benson, cocking his head towards one of the girls.

The other followed his eyes to an attractive but plain young woman with auburn hair. "Claire Sterlain." he answered from the top of his head and smiled. "Very promising, very determined."

Will simply nodded. He was not so much interested in her potential as an FBI agent. He watched her do another lap and let her nature sink in. She seemed smart enough, which was a plus, but most importantly, she had that kind of bright naivety to her that cast her own shadow sharply around her. Or so she believed. A looming darkness for no one to see and for her to hide.

In some ways, much like Abigail. In some ways, much like Will himself, once.

Hannibal would like her.

"Call her over, please. And then leave." he instructed Benson.

"Right now?" the other asked perplexed. "Shouldn't you perhaps ask her in a calmer environment and at a better time?"

"Like you did?" Will retorted quizzically. "No, it would be too formal. This has to come across as casually as possible. If we ask her to come to your office after training she'll be alarmed, and have more time to become wary and perceptive."

"This is hardly casual..." Benson muttered before finally calling out to Claire.

"I will make it out to be. The less she knows, the better for her." Will stated as the young woman began to make her way towards them.

"What is the matter?" Claire asked upon her arrival, surprisingly professional. She did not seem apprehensive in any way, which was good.

"Hello, Claire. Sorry to disturb your exercise, but I'd like to introduce you to someone." Benson smiled at her almost sheepishly. _'Ugh, he's enamored of her, isn't he.'_ thought Will. "This is Will Graham. I believe he has a _casual request_ for you."

With some effort, the empath suppressed a groan.

"I've heard a lot about you, it's an honor to meet you." She smiled at Will. Pleasantly, not in some form of misguided deification. For which, Will was glad. "I'm Claire Sterlain." she offered her hand which Will shook.

"I have some paperwork that needs tending. I'll leave you to this, Mr. Graham." Benson excused himself and left.

After a short silence, Claire asked "So, what is this 'request' about?"

"Nothing too exciting really," Will began. "mostly just some bureaucratic nit-picking, and another experience gained for you. Agent Benson is doing some kind of survey on the inmates of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane." Will felt like he really shouldn't be able to speak such a long name so effortlessly. Ah, the memories... "As always, Dr. Hannibal Lecter is being a little shortspoken though, so we were really just wondering if you would take it upon yourself to make one last attempt."

"Nothing important?"

"Nothing important." Will reassured.

"...Then why is _Will Graham_ personally asking me?" she enquired with smart and steely eyes, the same look Abigail would have employed on him for pulling something like this. It didn't take an overactive imagination to envision the smug smirk Hannibal would have flashed had he witnessed this moment. _'Oh yes, he'll like you alright.'_ Will thought.

He sighed, giving up on pretences. "The less you know, the better for you - let's leave it at that. Will you do it?"

She thought for a moment, then answered "Sure. But please don't do this again."  



	3. Complicit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Incidentally, I thought you should know that these chapter titles are actually the alternative titles I came up with for the episodes of season 1, also in that same order. Therefore, I cannot promise they will always fit the content of a chapter, but so far they do and I had to call them _something_.

### Complicit

"So when he talks to you, don't be afraid." Will told Claire as they were approaching the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. "He's a slimy, narcissistic bastard and he'll be coming on to you like no tomorrow, flaunting himself in most embarrassing ways, but he's mostly harmless."

"Harmless?" Claire asked him, baffled. "He's a serial killer."

"Huh?" Will whipped his head around to look at her with wide eyes. "Oh, not Hannibal. I was talking about Dr. Chilton."

"Ah."

"He's the administrator of this institution, the one who will let you in, and hopefully out again. He will also be the one to give you instructions on how to handle this visit, so pay attention to him during that two-minute period. They aren't vital but I'd advise you to follow them in order to stay on Chilton's good side. He's a little like a Chihuahua - his attempts at biting are pathetic, but they're still a pain in the ass." Will finished his speech.

"Would you happen to have vital instructions for me?" she asked, coming to a halt a few feet from the main entrance, silently coercing Will to do the same.

He considered, then took a slow step towards her to place both his hands on her shoulders and said firmly "No matter what happens, no matter what Hannibal says or what he wants you to say - never forget that he is nothing more than a snake in a terrarium. He cannot poison you as long as you don't get too close."

Claire nodded after a few seconds, not fully aware of the meaning but understanding the importance of what had just been said.

"Good." Will let go of her and motioned for her to enter. "You go in alone, I will stay out here. I'm sure he'd be able to _smell_ me if I entered..."

"What?" Claire asked confusedly.

"Nothing. Have fun." he gave her a fake smile as she disappared behind the doors.

Exactly as she had been warned, Chilton's advances were more on the far side of subtle. She managed to turn him down politely, and listened to him as he listed all the things she was not supposed to do. As she was, at last, let into the hallway of cells, she felt a little exposed and abandoned. Nothing she couldn't handle, but she had never been in a situation like this one before.

"Snakes in terrariums." she softly reminded herself, and strode past the many cells.

As the last one came into view, she slowed her step, not wanting to appear rushed or eager. The sight that greeted her was that of a man, seated on his cot with his legs carefully crossed, his hair neatly combed and minimal facial expression. He was wearing the same prison jumpsuit as all the other inmates, yet with the way he carried himself, he might as well have been wearing an expensive three-piece suit and seated in an opera house, anticipating the performance.

"A new face." he spoke with a voice that showed mild surprise only because he let it.

"Hello, Dr. Lecter. My name is Claire Sterlain. Were you expecting someone else?" she asked.

"Certainly not you." he smiled slightly. "But I am not about to complain; new faces are a sought-after rarity in here, after all. What brings you to my humble residence?" he asked as though he owned the place that confined him.

"Nothing much." she said almost coyly as she had taught herself. "I was just instructed to see if you might want to participate in this survey." she held up the folder with a smile.

Hannibal gave her a long, appraising look. Seeing through her blatant lie was easy enough, but there was something else about her, and about the situation, that caught his attention. He smiled.

"Tell me, how is Will Graham doing?"

Claire quickly intercepted her own surprise and chided herself for not putting up a better act. "He's fine." she said with a sigh. "Except his face."

He let out a soft laugh, then asked "Why did he not come here himself? And more importantly, why did he feel the need to send a _rookie_ in his stead? Is this how tired of me he has grown?"

Claire chose to ignore the jab directed at her and simply said "I don't know. I asked him once on our way here, but his answer wasn't very informative."

Hannibal cocked his head. "What did he say? And remember, I can tell when you lie."

It only now occured to Claire that she was very likely not supposed to be having this conversation at all. She hoped Will would not take offence. As far as she was concerned, it was his fault anyway for not providing her with the actual purpose of this visit in the first place. She shook her head "He said you probably wouldn't talk to him. Something about 'exhausted ressources' or something like that..."

"Is that so." Hannibal muttered. "Well, in return for this bit of information, I will divulge some to you. The reason you are here, as I assume you don't know, is that I _might_ be of help to the FBI in the capture of the currently much discussed 'Buffalo Bill'. They want you - or rather, they wanted Will Graham who then sent you - to coax information out of me."

This was suddenly a much bigger deal than even Claire had suspected when she had begun to suspect something. Indirectly assisting in the case of 'Buffalo Bill' was not something she had been mentally prepared for - she would have jumped at the chance for sure, but at the moment, she was overwhelmed.

"How do they expect me to do that?" she asked involuntarily.

"As of yet, I don't know." Hannibal offered. "However, I am certain Will Graham chose you for a reason."

Claire raised her still puzzled eyes to his.

After a few moments, Hannibal said "I think I will share the information I have with you. But not today - first meetings should never be tainted by such grisly topics. Come again, and we will go from there."

It took her a while of ascertaining the degree of sincerity behind his words before she believed him. She nooded.

"Alright. Until next time, Dr. Lecter." she tucked the folder underneath her arm and turned to leave.

"I'll see you, Claire." he replied somewhat ominously. In an afterthought, he called after her "Give Will my regards."

Hannibal remained seated on his cot and turned the encounter over in his head. So Will Graham thought he would not be interested in conversing with him anymore? What did he think Hannibal had "subtly indicated" his possible connection with the killer for? Then again, this suited Hannibal just fine. He had almost feared his bait had been too obvious when clearly, it had not. Even so, he knew Will was involved and would stay involved - he would meet him again soon enough. And until then... Hannibal had not missed the very obvious parallels to Abigail Hobbs in the demeanor of this fledgling agent. A hidden depth behind her pretence of ingenuousness. Another interesting, multifaceted personality for him to explore.

 _'Oh Will, you know me so well.'_ he thought and smiled to himself.  



	4. Family

### Family

The way out of the institution felt infinitely longer than the way in had. In between the safety procedures, Chilton's rekindled efforts at miraculously making her fall for him within a minute and the long walk through the reception hall, Claire's only goal was _air_. She wasn't overwhelmed anymore, she was frustrated. Frustrated with herself for not being a better actress and even letting herself be engaged in conversation with a cannibalistic serial killer, frustrated with said cannibalistic serial killer for seeing right through her, and most of all, frustrated with Will Graham for sending her in so unprepared.

She was greeted by Will when she pushed open the doors, but she strode past him, only to stop a few steps later and turn around again to face the baffled man. "'Nothing too exciting' was it?"

What surprised Will was not that she knew now - she would have had to find out, inevitably, if she were to be of help to the investigation anyway - but her reaction.

"As I said, the less you know, the better for you." he simply answered. "I thought you wouldn't mind assisting in a real case."

"I don't!" she countered, uncertain of her own motivations behind her reaction. "It's just... It's - why me? Why did you choose me?"

Realisation dawned on Will. Something in whatever Hannibal had told her had somehow struck a nerve. Typical. "What did he say to you?"

"He said surely you had a reason for choosing me. What was that?" she demanded.

Will's eyes widened. "He knows already? Damn, he's good..." he muttered the last part to himself, aggravating Claire further.

"Are you listening to me?"

"Yes I am, but I can't tell you. As in, I don't know. I don't know why you felt like the right person for this, you just did." Will finally answered.

After a while, Claire managed to calm down. "I just don't like being used as a tool is all..."

Had the timing not been so unfavourable, Will would have laughed out loud for how well he was able to relate to that sentiment, empathy unnecessary. "I know exactly how you feel." he opted to say instead.

Then, another thought struck him. "If I may ask... what's your father like?"

Claire cringed only a little, but still visibly. "He's dead. I was orphaned as a child. But he was a great man."

Perhaps, Will thought, he had found what had tipped him off. She had the eyes. The eyes of an orphan. How much like Abigail she was. How much like himself she was. She had built walls, or forts, to obscure whatever darkness she felt was lurking in her depths. It broke Will's heart to know that he could not tell her how her future visits with Hannibal Lecter were going to consist of him breaking down these forts in order to peer into that darkness. A small comfort was provided in the fact that Hannibal knew Will was behind this. It might keep him from obsessing over breaking Claire too much.

It might also make him double his efforts.

"On the bright side, he did offer me the information they want." Claire spoke up when she felt too long a silence had passed.

Will internally squirmed. "I figured."

Slowly they began making their way away from the building and down the street where Will's car was parked.

"So, since I am establishing a 'no secrets' rule right now, would you tell me about your relationship with Dr. Lecter?" Claire asked with a tone of good humour, making Will snort. "Rumors about it are available in abundance, I would like to know a few truths."

"Curiosity killed the cat, you know?" he bantered in equally good humour. After an intake of breath, he continued "I don't know what I could tell you to be honest. Well... back when we first met, I was suffering from encephalitis but didn't know. He found out but didn't tell me. He wanted to see which heights my imagination could reach and see me unable to tell right from wrong." He told it casually like a silly old childhood story, ironic smile perceptible on his face.

Carried along by Will's own ease, Claire almost comically said "Really? That's _awful_."

"It was. My life was saved by a hair's breadth. Oh, and one of his first acts after calling friendship on us was sending me - unknowing as I was - to kill one of his patients' friends who _also_ was a psychopathic murderer and had unwisely tried to gain Hannibal's friendship through a particularly theatrical kill." Will went on and made Claire laugh loudly.

"Now you're just messing with me." she laughed.

"Nope. All true." Will smiled back. Here was a way in which Claire wasn't like Abigail Hobbs - she accepted his attention. Then again, he had not killed Claire's father in front of her very eyes... The thought sobered him up and he reminded himself not to become fatherly involved yet again. It had never played out well when he had.

Will sighed after a while. "Hannibal Lecter has got to be _literally_ the worst thing to ever happen to me. But I would be long dead without him, so there is also this strange side of..."

"Gratitude?" Claire offered.

"No, I wouldn't call it that." In fact, he had no idea how to call it. "How about 'not-as-much-hate'?" he asked in return.

"Let's go with that, then." she replied before the two of them went silent for the rest of their journey back to the academy.


	5. Salvation

### Salvation

Will awoke around half past seven in the morning. No nightly terrors, no alarm clock, no outside influences had woken him, simply his own sleeping pattern. It seemed to Will that nightmares had not visited him in years, but neither had dreams. He granted himself a few minutes of calm as he lay and bathed in the autumnal atmosphere. As a boy from the south, he had never thought he could ever come to miss the relative cold of Virginia, but after moving back here, he had found that indeed he had. There was something about the way a chilly breeze could cool his mind when it was in risk of running hot that Florida had never been able to offer.

He felt lucky that he had been able to get his old house in Wolf Trap back. Some might mistake it for a form of regression on his part when in fact, it was quite the contrary. "Coming full circle" was more like the words Will would have used. Seven years ago, this house had been his hope to escape insanity; now he was practically rooming with it.

Will got up from his bed and walked into the bathroom to get ready for the day ahead of him. Especially shaving always took some extra time now with the obstacle course on his face.

After he was done, he took a good, hard look at his reflection. There was nothing he could not make peace with there. He raised his hand to trace the scar on his cheek - not on his face, but on the mirror. That was all it really was, wasn't it? When it came down to it, it was only there... There on his reflection. It was a cause of reactions in the people he met, not himself. It was something outside himself. It had never truly touched him on the inside. He did not feel _scarred_ by it.

Will dropped his hand to his stomach, an area far outside the reach of his reflection. This one _had_ scarred him. And ironically, it was the one nobody could see.

Refusing to dwell on strange thoughts for longer than necessary (a policy that he had successfully followed for years), Will abandoned his reflection and resumed getting ready before leaving for the academy.

After yesterday's events, he had decided it would probably be in everyone's - though mostly his own - best interest not to extend his involvement with the case or with Claire's role in it. Surely there was no need for him to escort her to the institution and back everytime to hold her hand as though he was bringing a scared child to the dentist. She was a grown woman after all, and she could handle a few conversations with a serial killer, even if it was Hannibal Lecter. Will also rejected the idea of entertaining Hannibal with his further involvement.

Once again, Drew Benson politely waited until the end of the lecture to enter the room.

"Hey, Mr. Graham." he approached Will's desk with a bright and honest smile. What a cheerful soul he suddenly was. "I just wanted to thank you for your help yesterday. It was a very honorable favor you did us there. If you ever need something, feel free to ask."

_'At the moment I just need you to come down and speak like an adult. And turn off that blinding grin.'_ Will thought. "I don't need anything, thank you. I'm sure you'll be able to handle it from here."

"Yes, me too. I only wanted to tell you this before we leave for West Virginia. A new body was found and we're going right away." said Benson.

Will was about to simply agree and dismiss and forget when he frowned. "..Who is 'we'? Wait - you wouldn't... you wouldn't be taking _Ms. Sterlain_ with you, would you?"

The agent gave him a puzzled look. "Of course I am. Would seem unfair to make her retrieve information and then not even give her a chance to put it to use."

"It's not like she even _has_ retrieved any actual information yet..!" Will was becoming irritated. This was not what he had thought would result from his helpfulness. His intention had most _definitely_ not been to provide the FBI with fodder in the form of a naive, inexperienced novice only because Benson wanted to boost her career for personal reasons.

"But she will, thanks to you. This is a marvellous opportunity for her to gain field experience." the other replied firmly, slightly disgruntled by Will's attitude now. "At any rate, thank you. And have a nice day." He turned to leave.

Will knew there was no reason for him to get so worked up. Or to feel responsible in any way. He had done exactly as he had been asked, namely found a way to make Hannibal Lecter talk. Claire Sterlain was no longer his responsibility. Not that she ever had been. She was responsible for her own life. Or at the very least, the FBI was. Not him. _'Notmyproblemnotmyproblemnotmy-'_ "Wait." the empath called out to Benson as the other was about halfway to the door. "Take me with you."

The agent turned around with a shocked expression. "You said you didn't do field work anymore..?" he said in his daze.

Will glared at him. "I _wouldn't_. But it's not like I'll just pick her out and then leave her to her own devices out there either, is it?"

Benson thought about telling him that she would have pretty much the entire department by her side, but when Will Graham willingly offers active help on a case, you don't question it - you rejoice.

"Alright," he began. "as I said, we are leaving right away. Are there things you need to fetch? We can drive by your home on the way."

Will sighed. He was not wondering if this was a good idea. He knew it wasn't. "Sounds good." he said nevertheless.


	6. Forlorn

### Forlorn

"Mr. Graham?" Claire asked in her surprise when Will climbed into the passenger seat of of Drew Benson's car. "Why are you here?"

"A severe case of bad judgment." he replied without turning around to face the woman seated in the back.

"For joining us?"

"No, for helping your boss yesterday."

The short conversation was ended when said boss entered the vehicle himself and Will fell silent for the duration of the ride to his house. He already knew he didn't need much, if anything, from there - for one because he expected the trip to be a rather short one and secondly because he was still a somewhat frugal person - but he preferred being safe to being sorry, especially when he had managed to trap himself in a situation he really did not want to be in.

As he disappeared inside his house and rather pretended to pack than did it, it occurred to him that due to the absence of dogs, he was actually more free to go on trips now than he had been when those had been far more frequent in his time of active field work. Not that he was glad about it in any way - he would switch the two in a heartbeat. It hadn't been long after moving together with Molly and Willy that he had felt himself forced (albeit by none other than himself) to give his family of strays away. It would have been too impractical, perhaps too dangerous, even, to have kept seven - partially traumatised - dogs in a small family household with a kid. It had torn him apart all the same. Will missed them terribly.

While they too had been a family he had "taken" rather than "built", in their case he had always known, always felt that there was no place they would rather be. No person they would rather be with. Will had loved Molly for her kindness and for her love, but he had always sensed an underlying unrest within her - the troubled awareness that she could not understand him. There had never been a need for his dogs to understand him. So in a way, they might have been the only true friends he had ever had.

...Except one perhaps. However, it goes without saying that when it came to company, Will much preferred the "if you pet me, I'll be your best friend" to the "I'll pet you and be your best friend whether you want it or not" variety.

He returned to the car holding a bag that concealed that he had taken almost nothing at all with him. They drove in silence to the border to West Virginia where they were picked up by a local police officer who would then drive them the rest of the way. The new car arrangement forced Will to join Claire in the backseat and listen to her and Benson talk about the case. Contrary to his expectations though, this turned out to be quite interesting. Not for the case itself so much as for Claire's insights. At least in the theoretical field, she wasn't lacking.

"What has got you so down today?" Claire asked Will after a while when the car had fallen mostly silent again. She had very well noticed the detachment in his attitude and it puzzled her. They had seemed to get along nicely before. "Still your bad judgement?"

"Yes, very much." Will replied curtly. The way he behaved was childish even to him. It made him feel like he was simply _sulking_ more than anything else. Therefore, he added "But it's alright now. Nothing to be done about it anyway."

A not as uncomfortable quiet as before spread between them. Even so, the young trainee wanted to break it.

"Can I have another truth?" she asked.

Will smiled despite himself. He also briefly thought about requesting a "truth" from her in return, but that sounded like something Hannibal Lecter would do. "Depends on the kind of truth you want."

"Is it true that you have solved cases with next to no evidence at all?"

"You realise there is no way to answer that question correctly?" he replied with a sigh as one would admonish a child. "Of course I cannot create facts out of nothingness if that is what you are asking. I am simply better at connecting the dots the right way than most..."

"With empathy?" Claire inquired with a glint in her eyes.

"...Yes. With empathy."

She let that piece of information sink in. She had heard... _myths_ , almost, about Will Graham's empathy. However, many simply ascribed it to a vivid imagination, or an extraordinary intuition, some malicious tongues even called mental illness, based on how Will himself had been a resident at the BSHCI at one point, even if it was on grounds of false accusations. There was a reason behind his hesitation in admitting to the empathy. It was sad to see someone reluctant to speak honestly about themselves simply because it may be too foreign for others to _believe_.

"What is that like?" she asked curiously. "Isn't it scary to have feelings that are not your own?"

Will inwardly laughed. Most of seven years ago, "scary" would have been putting it mildly. More like "absolutely terrifying". The feelings had seemed like such an all-devouring burden back then, threatening to swallow him whole if he was not careful... Now he was more or less content to be leaning casually up against that wall, as opposed to being crushed underneath it.

"I think nowadays, the worst part about understanding others so completely is that I get to feel how little they understand me in return." Will answered eventually. "Like I am the one standing behind a one-way mirror. Seeing everything. Never seen."

"Maybe someone out there is standing on the same side of the mirror." Claire said hoping to sound helpful. Instead, she watched as Will's face hardened for a reason unknown to her and he looked out the window and went silent again. _'Conversation aborted.'_ she thought.

At that point, they were almost at their destination anyway.


	7. Lonely

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think one of the bigger problems Bryan Fuller may run into when adapting _Silence of the Lambs_ is that pretty much the entire story revolves around how Clarice is always silently belittled and ridiculed for being a woman in the FBI - every man she meets helps creating the stark contrast to Hannibal Lecter who (ironically enough) is the only male to actually take her seriously, and therefore becomes Clarice's "escape" of sorts. Of course sexism, especially in this kind of job, is still a reality. However, not to the extent needed to truly make the story play out that way.  
>  So as you have probably noticed, in my version I try to take up the other interesting aspects of her character instead.

### Lonely

Claire Sterlain was not an interesting person.

That is what she herself thought anyway. Anything that _could_ have made her interesting (Orphan? So what. Female FBI? Times have changed.) really did not. And so, anytime Claire felt it necessary to be interesting, she played act instead. Of course, she had quickly realised that she would have had to be a lot more _skilled_ to successfully play act with Hannibal Lecter, so when she returned to the BSHCI for the second conversation, from the start she knew better than to even try.

All the more it surprised her when after only a few minutes of pleasantries, Hannibal Lecter struck a deal with her to exchange information pertaining the case for information about herself. It confused her, more than anything else. In fact, one of her first thoughts had been that this was hardly a fair deal, considering how little of interest she would be able to tell him. Just as well though, she thought - at least this way she would have easy access to the valuable information, if only for a limited time before the other realised he would have to come up with a better "quid pro quo".

Quickly enough, however, she began to sense how the enquiries about her person made her feel uneasy. She could not fathom why. Even though the questions she had had to answer so far were rather unspectacular, for some reason she had the distinct feeling she was being intruded on. As though she did have something to hide, or to protect within herself.

Claire left the building feeling mildly disturbed and confused. When Will welcomed her outside again, she gave him a light smile. She played act. But she knew Will felt it anyway. After all, Will _saw_. Claire was well aware that playing act with Will Graham was about as pointless as it was with Hannibal Lecter.

While she doubted that the empath would even adress the subject, she still wanted to prevent it before it even came to that and swiftly said "At least we can be certain now that he's not simply bluffing. He was able to tell exactly which patches of skin were removed from the newly found body. Was even able to tell that we found a moth."

"Well, I didn't believe him to be bluffing either. Under these particular circumstances, anything else would have been _rude_." Will agreed and fell into step with her as they walked down towards his car again. "That reminds me; I was really impressed with how well you handled your first autopsy, you know? Especially considering it was a skinned, bloated water corpse." he told her casually when they got in the car and Claire threw her bag onto the backseat. "I still remember my first one. I could hardly look at her, and she had simply been pronged on antlers."

"The Shrike?" Claire asked.

"Yes."

Over the course of the past few days since their trip to West Virginia, the two of them had entered a form of collaboration. Claire would come to Will's lecture hall after classes and they would sift through the existing case files together. Drew Benson had not seemed too happy about it - he would have liked to be included more fully in the investigative process, instead of being presented with facts as they were assembled. Not only because he was, after all, the head of the BSU, but also because he had looked forward to a chance to work together with Claire more closely. Needless to say, Will cared very little about Benson's preferences. As far as he was concerned, by accepting Will's aid, the agent had also agreed to his terms of service.

Without new information, however, all he and Claire had managed to determine with certainty so far was that they needed more information. _White male in his 30's or 40's_ was not exactly a sufficient profile to go by.

Halfway through their ride to Quantico, Will spoke up again. "Once we get back you will have to tell me in detail what Hannibal said about this killer so we can add it to the files, but what were the headlines?"

Claire distantly wondered if the "details" included the questions the Doctor had asked her but she dismissed the thought. They could hardly be of any relevance to the case. "Well, essentially that this former patient of his was the killer's lover at one point - presumably dead -, and the moth is a symbol of the killer's transformation."

An annoyed snort from the driver's seat made Claire move her gaze from out the front window to Will. The other was glaring straight ahead. "I am growing very tired of serial killers and their 'grand transformations' already. Why can they not simply go through a midlife crises and get a new haircut or something like it?" the empath ranted. "No, it has to involve a lot of killing, and skinning, and... _mirror-shard-inserting_ instead." Relating to a notion via empathy did not mean Will could not find the excessive amount of drama displayed ridiculous at times.

However, in his exasperation, Will managed to miss the fact that he had just connected multiple dots correctly, even without his knowledge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for the rather short chapter, the next one is much longer.
> 
> By the way: We're halfway there already - from now on come all the exciting parts :)


	8. Friendship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured, even before I began to write this story, that if not only Hannibal and Claire, but Hannibal and Claire _and_ Will were working together (kinda), the investigation would probably proceed much faster. Too fast, actually. Therefore, in my version, I am sort of artificially prolonging the investigation by putting more time between Claire's visits with Hannibal and by having the senator's daughter be kidnapped at a later point in time.  
>  However, Will's involvement is the reason why I took the liberty of letting them figure one important thing out much sooner than in the original. (Also, we do want some mental leaps and pendulum-swinging action from Will, don't we?)

### Friendship

For the first time in years, Will was dreaming. He was watching a scene that even in his sleep felt vaguely familiar to him, and a distant part of his mind whispered to him that it had occurred this very same day. From the backseat of his car, he witnessed himself driving Claire from Baltimore to Quantico, having the very same conversation as earlier this day. Except now, it was night - or that was what Will deduced from the eerie darkness that engulfed the car from the outside.

As though in slowmotion, he turned his head to look at himself when the Will Graham driving the car spoke, warped and alternating in volume and accentuation.

"Why can they not simply go through a midlife crises and get a new _haircut_ or something like it?"

The entire situation felt menacing. Will could not decide if the incessant sound in his ears was the engine, even though rationally speaking he knew it was much too slow and throbbing to be a car engine; it sounded much more like a heartbeat. Unable to break the trance despite the sinister atmosphere, Will looked around.

"No, it has to involve a lot of killing, and skinning, and..." came the voice again and went still.

Only now did Will notice the car was not even moving at all. He looked out the front window and saw, in a few feet distance, a naked figure. It was facing away from the car, illuminated only by the headlamps. There was a complicated pattern tattooed onto its back, assuming the shape of a dragon.

 _'Francis Dolarhyde?'_ thought Will.

In that moment, the figure began to writhe, to almost fold into itself as its skin began to bulge and hollow out in ways that were nauseating to watch. Finally, unable to bear the strain, the skin ripped, and burst, and dissolved to make way for two giant wings to emerge. Instead of a man, an oversized Acherontia was now standing at a distance from the car. But not all skin was lost. A few sections, closely resembling the ones removed from the victims of 'Buffalo Bill' were... _patched_ onto its body. Similarly, from atop the tell-tale "skull" protruded the hair taken from the latest corpse.

The moth turned around to reveal its black, black front, and that is when Will awoke with a soft gasp.

Worried he might lose his train of thought, he immediately grabbed his phone and called Claire Sterlain's number, not bothering to even check the time. As soon as the trainee picked up, Will began.

"It's the skin. His transformation, or _metamorphosis_ , revolves around skin, much like Francis Dolarhyde's - he changed his own skin to grow and transform, but Buffalo Bill wants to become something else altogether. He's.. He is using _their_ skin for himself to hatch anew. It explains why he chooses women that would be about his size. I believe he may be trying to _craft_ a new self... I think he is tailoring a new skin for himself." he spoke in pretty much one breath, and sadly not as coherently as he would have liked.

"...Mr. Graham? Is that you?" Claire's incredibly drowsy voice seeped through the phone. Will glanced sideways at his alarm clock. To himself, he justified his actions thinking that many students had probably not even gone to bed yet.

"Uh, yes. Did I wake you?" he asked inanely.

"A little bit." came the answer and Will was not sure if it was supposed to be downplaying or if it was to be taken literally, as in that she was mostly still asleep.

In either case, the empath found it best to postpone the talk. "You know, nevermind. Please go back to sleep. We can discuss this later today." And with that, he hung up.

After classes, and after a curt and awkward but honest apology on Will's part, the two restarted the topic of the importance of skin.

"Even though my mind was a little hazy when you called," Claire began once she was seated at the desk with Will, the files spread out before them. "I was still able to grasp enough to remember that you mentioned that he may be 'tailoring' a new skin. So I did a little research on tailoring during my free period and found out that many of the shapes taken from the victims are the exact same that are often used in professional dressmaking. He's not an amateur, Mr. Graham. He knows what he's doing."

"So it's either his job or he is very skilled in his hobby." Will concluded. "This reduces our number of possible suspects to less than one percent."

"Which would still be more than a million if we're talking about the entire United States."

"...Yeah."

Thence, they returned their attention to the case files, looking at them under the new light of this latest revelation. They knew now what the killer was after; there was still a long way to go to figure out a way to pinpoint him though.

About an hour later, the two had still not made any significant progress. Will was still brooding over the papers laid out on his desk while Claire had taken to sprawling across three of the seats up front in the lecture hall, holding a folder above her head.

"I got nothing - you?" she eventually said.

"Not really." replied Will, stretching his back for the first time in too long.

After another short bout of silence, Claire said "Mr. Graham? Truth."

Will exhaled in an amused laugh. What kind of game had he somehow manoeuvred himself into there? "Er, alright?"

Claire sat up. "When and how did Dr. Lecter save your life?"

Will's eyes widened and even his jaw went slack for a second as he turned to face her, incredulous. "Hannibal Lecter has _never_ saved my life. Why would you even think that?"

The young trainee felt a little taken aback by his reaction. "Because you said so yourself?"

"I am _very_ sure I haven't, because that would have been a lie." he countered.

She frowned. "You - no, you _said_ that you would be long dead without him. All I'm asking is why."

Finally, Will realised what she meant. "Oh, _that_." he laughed softly. "Well, that wasn't so much an act of _saving_ my life as it was simply preventing its inevitable obliteration."

"How?" Claire repeated.

The empath breathed deeply as he contemplated how to word his reply. "He made me viable." he shrugged.

The other's tilted head told him the matter probably needed elaboration.

"Back when he was first employed by Jack Crawford to watch over my psyche, I was..." he smiled wryly. "..in dire need of it. I was a nervous wreck, pretty much. Had been all my life. I was... terrified of the world that reflected within myself. Most of all though, I was terrified that I might find out I wasn't strong enough to handle it. So instead, I put myself in a position where I _wouldn't_ have to find out. I didn't even look people in the eye, I was much too afraid of what I might find in there, of the feelings I might be confronted with in their depths. It wasn't until I realized that I had _missed_ the Chesapeake Ripper standing in my closest physical, mental and emotional proximity, and had let him toy with me like a puppet, that it finally became clear to me that I needed to _look_ if I ever wanted to stand a chance against the world that threatened to break me. And I found out that I was strong enough. I was tossed and pulled and twisted but... I never broke." After a few moments, he let out an ironic laugh. "For better or for worse, Hannibal Lecter showed me I didn't have to be afraid of the world because he was already the worst thing that could possibly happen to me."

"And thereby... also the best, right?" Claire asked hesitantly.

Will's face froze and broke into a frown instead. Even though he had chosen her for this job himself, that did not make her (accurate) insights any less annoying. "Why are you even still here? Doesn't your class have a test tomorrow?" he drawled.

"Agent Benson has excused me from tests for the duration of the case." she replied slyly, making Will scoff.

"Do you realize he's in love with you?" he asked her after a while.

Claire averted her gaze, feeling a little uncomfortable with the question. Unbeknownst to Will, Hannibal had asked her a very similar one the day before. She gave both the same answer.

"If he is, then it's because he doesn't know me yet."

Will gave her a questioning look but decided to let it slide. He pondered the entirety of their conversation in silence, then said

"I've been locked away and brought to trial on account of my alleged 'madness'. I have seen people closest to me look at me with eyes that thought I had lost my mind. That I was insane." He sighed. "To tell the truth, I feel more insane now than I ever have, but no one will acknowledge this kind of madness. No, they have a different word for it. They call it 'stable'..."


	9. Judgement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, Hannibal actually gets to speak three lines again. I realise that Hannibal himself has not really been receiving enough attention so far, but he will (of course) play a larger role in chapters 11, 12 and 13.  
> Besides though, that sort of _is_ his role, isn't it? To hover in the room like a shadow over those who know him, influencing and sometimes even directing conversations and events from afar - like he very much does in this following chapter.

### Judgement

Since despite their major breakthrough the evaluation of clues had turned out to be rather fruitless the day before, another visit at the BSHCI was scheduled to take place as soon as possible. Mildly impressed with their rather quick discovery, Hannibal rewarded Claire with information on the nature of Buffalo Bill's sexuality, as well as the likelihood with which the killer had applied for a gender reassignment surgery. This time, in return for stories of her childhood and her father's death.

Claire still felt discomfortingly scrutinised by the questions. At the same time, however, she could not deny that it felt liberating in a way as well. She had never been to a psychiatrist in her adolescent or short adult years, but she imagined it to feel a little something like this. It was all too easy to forget that the gentle, sophisticated and _graceful_ man always sitting on his cot opposite her with his legs crossed in a dignified manner was even capable of the atrocities he was imprisoned for. In fact, she had to admit that she nearly felt comfortable with his presence now. Their conversations, despite the inherent nature of these conversations, had begun to feel almost pleasant to her.

A rational part of her mind told her, tried to reason with her, that this was very likely the poison Will had been referring to and that she was letting herself get way too close. But make a poison sweet enough and sometimes even those familiar with it will refuse to recognise it as such. Claire silenced the voice in the back of her head telling it that it was necessary for her to elicit the information for the case out of the other, even if he was manipulating her in some way.

At the end of their 'session', Hannibal said "I think I will give you a little homework assignment today." His eyes assumed a slightly devious glint. "Have Will Graham tell you who Abigail Hobbs was."

Claire gave a puzzled frown. "I know who she was - she was the daughter of the Minnesota Shrike, and one of your victims." she said.

"Don't question the teacher, Claire," he said with an airy smile. "and do your homework."

It was only much later in the afternoon, when Will and her had already meticulously studied their new leads, had told agent Benson and his team to research applicants for GRS at select hospitals and were almost ready to call it a day, that Claire brought up the subject. They were once again in the classroom, Will drinking a cup of coffee as he ran his eyes over a paper one last time when Claire tentatively said

"There is something Dr. Lecter told me to do."

Will halted mid-sip and slowly turned to her in almost comical, wide-eyed apprehension of such an ominous statement.

"...Well whatever it is, don't do it. I know you're young and confused but that is really no reason to be taking advice from _Hannibal Lecter_ of all people."

"He told me to ask you about Abigail Hobbs. About who she was." she clarified. The empath went still for a few long moments, and when he looked as though he was about to tell her the same she had told Hannibal, she quickly cut him off. "Outside the police reports. I assume he meant who she was to _you_."

Deprived of his only escape route, Will leaned back in his chair and let his eyes travel the room. Claire was not sure if he was looking for words or contemplating whether or not to answer, but at any rate, she knew better than to rush or to push him. She waited in absolute silence and patience.

At long last, Will began "Her father, Garret Jacob Hobbs, was the first person I ever killed. I shot him as he was about to cut Abigail's throat. Of course it saved her life, but it also meant that I ended up doing it right in front of her. And... no matter _what_ he was... no matter what he had done to her... he was still her father. And so I would always be the one who had murdered her father." He shook his head. "I could... feel that she _wanted_ to trust me, she wanted to _like_ me but... she couldn't. In her eyes, I was too closely intertwined with her past."

He took a deep, shaky breath "So instead, she turned to the _other_ father figure in her life - Dr. Hannibal Lecter."

Claire could plainly see that this was a very touchy subject to him. If nothing else, she had learn to tell by the way he was looking anywhere else but at her.

Letting out a self-depreciating laugh, Will continued "He told me how we were both her fathers now, like... creating this fairy tale of a happy family. ...And I believed him. I _wanted_ to believe in it so much that I couldn't see... was _afraid_ to see, that Abigail had played a much larger role in her father's crimes than anyone knew... until it was too late."

Finally, he faced the trainee. "Just like with Hannibal, you know? Had I... _looked_ at him, had I _tried_ to see who he was... then I could have. Even back then. But no, I was content to reside within my shell and feel cared for by him. Even as I _felt_ a constant presence behind my back, _breathing down my neck_ , I never once bothered to just... turn around and _look_ at it!"

Will's shoulders slumped a little. "If I had... if I hadn't been such a coward... Abigail wouldn't have had to die. There is no excuse for that." he finished.

"Just how are you responsible when _he_ killed her despite her trust in him?" Claire asked.

Again, Will laughed sarcastically and turned away from her. "Well, leaving aside his 'own' victims - which he wouldn't have killed had he been incarcerated at the time - then there are four people he killed _specifically_ because of me. He killed a girl called Cassie Boyle to _help_ me with the psychological profile of the Minnesota Shrike... killed an old acquaintance of his to make me believe I had done it, killed... Georgia Madchen, to get rid of a witness as well as the only person I felt remotely understood by other than himself, and lastly, killed Abigail Hobbs. To incriminate me and also to just," he returned his eyes to Claire. "seal the deal."

The young woman hadn't given up on trying to console him. She wasn't sure she could, she wasn't sure he needed it, but she tried to anyway. She had never seen Will so honest and _lively_ in his pain, and considering how strong - or jaded - the other man was, Claire thought that this might very well be his only true regret that he was forced to talk about. "You just wanted to be there for Abigail when she needed it the most. That did not kill her."

"Well it certainly didn't bring her any luck, did it?" Will countered, his face blank again now.

It had been worth a try. Claire decided to let the matter rest, and after some light and inconclusive conversation about the case, she soon packed her things and left for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For good measure (and in the light of the newest episode), I know that Hannibal's killing because of Will probably didn't stop after these four people - why Beverly, why? - but Will blames himself for their deaths in particular because of his inability to save them on account of his own "weakness". After his incarceration and his recognition of who Hannibal truly is, he may still be unable to protect people like Beverly, but at least it's not because he is afraid to _look_ now.


	10. Alive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lambs are screaming, at long last.

### Alive

The next day found her all but stumbling out of the institution after another conversation with Hannibal. She had a hard time thinking or even seeing straight, and she was dimly aware that she was on the verge of hyperventilating.

Claire's morning had started out ordinarily enough. The only initial difference to any other had been that when she had arrived at the academy to have Will drive her to Baltimore as had become their habit, he was nowhere to be found, which had stumped her. She had cast a quick glance inside his lecture hall as well just to make sure, but she knew that he had no classes until later, past noon when they would have returned from her visit to the institution. He hadn't picked up the phone when she had called him either. While Claire had been slightly worried about him because of it, she was also aware that she would have to get going soon if she didn't want to be late. So instead, she had taken her own car and gone on her own.

Upon her arrival before Hannibal's cell, the other had almost immediately asked her for her "homework", but slightly upset about Will's unexpected absence she had retortet with what she perceived as a snide but nonetheless sincere remark on how Will had basically told her that Hannibal had murdered their only child. As she caught the almost imperceptible downwards twitch of Hannibal's lips however, she was shocked to realise that what she said had to have actually stung him on some level or other. The very notion somehow distracted her enough to allow for their conversation to proceed as the ones before.

Or almost as the ones before.

Over the course of this particular conversation, she had felt herself coaxed into reliving her childhood's worst memory, one she had buried deep down within herself never to be beheld again the way she was now forced to. That within a single night, she had born witness to more of the world's darkness than she had ever cared to admit, even to herself. That all these years, she had convinced herself of her own uninterestingness to avoid coming face to face with herself. Much worse than the realisation itself, however, was the feeling of self-awareness that came with. For the first time in her life, Claire experienced the overwhelming sensation of complete understanding of herself. And it was staggering.

Hence why she was now barely capable of keeping herself upright as she hurriedly exited the building.

As much as she tried to calm herself, all she could feel was the alarming lack of air with every breath, and she faintly knew she would fall unconscious within the next minute if she couldn't get her anxiety attack under control. She wished Will was there. Why wasn't he there? A thought came to her struggling mind, a memory of something Will had taught her for whenever she felt distraught. With a viciously trembling hand, Claire pushed up the jacket sleeve on her left arm to get a better look at her wristwatch.

"It's eleven eighteen a.m., I'm in Baltimore, Maryland, my name is Claire Sterlain." she gasped.

For some undefinable reason, it worked. Her muscles went lax and she hunched over, not bothering to keep back the tears as she cried out the pain of a lifetime of misconception.

=#=#=

Most of two hours later, Claire silently entered Will's classroom. The empath was sitting at his table, correcting essays from the looks of it.

"Why were you not there today?" she asked evenly.

Without looking up, Will answered "I thought you would do well enough by yourself this time."

Her brow furrowed at that. "Well today I could have used your support..."

The other snorted "I find that hard to believe."

Taking a few steps forward, Claire repeated determinedly "Why were you not there today?"

Will sighed and finally looked at her with hard eyes. "Because our conversation yesterday made it clear to me that it would be best if I stayed out of this from now on." he said, deciding to be honest.

"Why?" she asked after a while.

Taking another deep breath, he explained "For one, because I don't like the idea of Hannibal using you to mess with me, and secondly... I have come to realize that my efforts to befriend, or _befather_ you are likely nothing more than a misguided attempt to rewrite the past."

"To save Abigail by protecting me." she clarified for him.

"...Yes."

Claire pondered this for a minute. In the end, she took another step towards him.

"...I don't mind." she shrugged, making the other jerk his head sharply to look up at her. "Even _if_... that is your motivation, then our collaboration and friendship are still genuine, aren't they..?"

Will stared at her a few long moments, his mouth slightly agape, before he let out a derisive laugh. "You told me you didn't like to be used as a tool, but that is what you are. That is what they asked me for. To provide them with a tool to use and I did."

"That's not true!" Claire shouted. "You didn't 'provide' me, you _chose_ me." She took a few breaths. "I understand that now. You... chose me, because somehow you were able to _see_ that I'm the kind of person who knows that lambs can scream like humans when they know they're going to die. That there are... people in this world, who can hear their screams and not feel a thing. You saw that... I learned at a young age that not all can be saved... and some don't even want to be..." she said, her voice breaking as she spoke.

"...I'm terrified," she whispered at last, "of that powerlessness I've experienced, and you saw that. You..." She took one decisive step forward. "You _understand_ me."

Will had no idea what kind of experience she was talking about exactly, nevertheless he recognised the truth in what she said about his reasons for picking her, reasons he himself had been unable to put his finger on until now. He was also acutely aware of the fact that her telling him about it was the ultimate act of reaching out for him. Just like he had so dearly wished Abigail would have reached out for him. But therein lay the problem. He could not allow himself to steal yet another position he had never rightfully earned. To try and affect a life for the better when all he had ever accomplished in that regard was pain and destruction. Strangers he could help as long as he stayed detached - but ultimately, his kindness had never managed to produce happiness.

So for once, Will chose the path of unadulterated cruelty instead.

Shrugging, he clicked his tongue. He looked up at Claire and shrugged again. "I can understand anyone. That does not make you special in any way."

The hurt on her face was immediate and clear. Blinking back the stinging in her eyes, she introverted herself where she had been reaching out seconds earlier. After several moments, she jerkily nodded before she turned around and left.

Alone again, Will exhaled deeply.

And somewhere, a blonde woman's anguish went completely unnoticed as she was shoved into a van, as though disappearing from the face of the earth.


	11. Identity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ironic how in his effort to prevent history from repeating itself, Will tempts history to repeat itself.

### Identity

"So... how are those 'conversations' with Ms. Sterlain coming along?" an arrogant voice arrived at Hannibal's cell, and when he looked up he saw a familiar man strutting down the last few steps of the hallway to come to a stand before the glass.

"Well enough, Frederick." he said and sat up on his cot. "I have no complaints."

In reponse, the too playful expression on Chilton's face faded to give way for a look of displeasure.

"I cannot understand why, though. All you get for your efforts are pointless childhood stories. What's in it for you, exactly?" he asked scornfully.

"Listening in on your patients' private conversations again? How very unethical of you." came the entirely unsurprised reply.

The administrator sneered. "Let's not throw stones, _Doctor_ Lecter."

With a bored sigh, Hannibal finally said "However simple-minded your motivations may be, Frederick, I have never known you as a man to raise a single finger without one. So - what is your motivation behind asking these questions?"

"I can offer you a better deal." said Chilton. He was proud that he had been quick enough, since he assumed the FBI - or rather, that girl - would storm the BSHCI as soon as they had processed what he already knew. "Yesterday, a quite important person's daughter was abducted, it's all over the news. The circumstances practically scream 'Buffalo Bill'. Therefore, my suggestion is: you give me the name and whereabouts of Buffalo Bill, for I know you have them, and if your information leads to the victim's rescue, I will repay you with any favor you may see fit - within the bounds of reason, of course." he smirked.

"Reason appears to be a rare visitor in mental institutions such as this one," Hannibal spoke languorously as he stood up to feign interest. "I am intrigued as to how you would define its bounds."

"You can not leave this place." the other replied without missing a beat. "Anything else is negotiable."

Hannibal considered, or pretended to consider, his options. After a while, a subtle smile tugged at his lips and as he slowly approached the glass he said "I would like a different cell. A change of pace would be very welcome after six years. One apart from the other inmates, with a window. And bars; I find it distracting in conversation how easily this glass fogs up as soon as I come near it." By now, he was inches away from the transparent wall, and in spite of the secure seperation, Hannibal still managed to give off an intimidating aura as he towered over Chilton. As if for emphasis of his former statement he exhaled against the glass, misting it and showing off his teeth in the process, and tried not to show too much of his sadistic satisfaction with the way Chilton backed away flinchingly.

"Furthermore, I would much appreciate it if someone else took over the duties that concern me in your place." Hannibal finished.

The response was immediate. "That is out of the question."

"Are you sure you want to decline?" the other coaxed. "How many so-called 'interviews' have we had over the years, Frederick? Other than my name on your administrative papers, I never did become the psychiatric sensation you had imagined or hoped for. What I am offering you is _one_ triumph over me, at least, before you disappear from my line of sight forever."

Vanity was such an easy thing to manipulate. Hannibal almost found it an insult to his level of skill.

Chilton narrowed his eyes in thought, when in fact, the decision had been made for him the moment he had allowed room for persuasion.

"...Very well, then." he said.

"Of course, to secure I will not walk away from this bargain empty-handed, I will postpone telling you anything until I have been moved to my new home. I am sure you understand." Hannibal added with a smile.

"Fine. But I will still remain in charge of you until Buffalo Bill is apprehended. And if for some reason the information turns out to be insufficient or untruthful, I will make sure I find a cell that is even worse than this one, faster than you can say... whatever you'd like to say in that situation." Chilton finished lamely.

"Sounds perfect." Hannibal smirked, earning himself a perplexed look from the shorter man.

A worse cell would certainly offer him better opportunities to escape.

When Chilton went upstairs to make the necessary arrangements, all but glowing with pride over his achievement, he ran into Claire as she was walking through the reception hall.

"Oh, so you've finally heard it too?" he taunted her. "I must say, I am surprised how slow on the uptake the FBI has become. But I am afraid I'll have to disappoint you - no visitors are allowed anymore for the time being. There is a... _light reconstruction_ going on." he grinned.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Claire asked with a frown. "I am from the FBI, you have to let me through."

"No, you are not from the FBI. You are a student from the FBI academy, there is a huge difference. Unless you come back with _real_ FBI agents, I can keep civilians like yourself out as much as I want to. Needless to say, by the time of your return I will most likely be in possession of the information you're after anyway, so I wouldn't even bother if I were you..." the administrator drawled.

"What? Did... did Dr. Lecter agree to tell you? _You_ of all people?" the trainee enquired in her astonishment, making Chilton scowl at her.

"Ms. Sterlain, you are in no position to be condescending towards me now, are you? Don't envy others their success simply because you failed. Now if you will excuse me, I have things to do. And would you kindly leave my institution." With that, the man turned around and walked away, leaving Claire dumbfounded.

Recognising her lack of choice, she begrudgingly complied and exited the building again. Outside, she tried to make sense of it all but came up with nothing. Why would Hannibal, who held the power of knowledge in such high regards, divulge lucrative information to someone he most likely perceived as _lowlife_? And so quickly at that, when he had made Claire sit through conversation after conversation for a week now? While she didn't claim to understand Hannibal's way of thinking, she just felt that it wasn't his _style_ to make her go through all of this and then simply give up on his game in favour of whatever it was Chilton had offered him in return. In fact, it was... That was...

That would be _rude_.

Back at home, Claire intently watched the news channel for hours until it was announced in the evening that there was indeed a new lead - an actual name, Louis Friend - in the case of Buffalo Bill thanks to the administrator of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. She watched an interview with Chilton in which he boasted about his alleged 'unique insight' into Hannibal Lecter's psyche, about the way he had 'tricked' the other into giving him the information, and about how 'shocked' he was that he had been able to solve the case even before the FBI. It was sickening to watch.

Claire turned off the TV, sat and reflected on the situation. Suddenly, pieces of information clicked together in her head, and before she could consider any possible consequences she was seated in her car on her way back to Baltimore.

Almost two hours later she arrived at the institution. It was swarmed by reporters and police but she still managed to push her way inside. She walked up to Chilton who was in the midst of talking to a police officer, but as soon as he caught sight of her, he abandoned his conversation and approached her with an irritated expression.

"Ms. Sterlain, I believe I already told you once today that visits with my patients are currently prohibited." he said.

"I know, but could you perhaps make an exception? Only one? I really need to talk to Dr. Lecter one last time." Claire asked even though she knew the other had established the ban specifically for her.

"And just who do you think you are?" Chilton frowned. "Walking in and out of _my_ institution as you please, talking to _my_ patients? I am not obligated to put up with this kind of behavior, missy."

At this rate, she would be getting nowhere. So instead, Claire resorted to a good old friend of hers. Playing act.

He wanted to feel powerful, so she gave him just that; putting on a submissive and regretful demeanor, she said "Look, I-I'm sorry for the way I acted today, it's just... I was really frustrated because of all the work I'd put into this case, when I was unable to accomplish in a week what you did within hours... I promise I won't be any trouble, all I - all I want is just to say goodbye so I won't have to feel like it was all for _nothing_..." She looked up at him with agonised eyes. "Please..."

Chilton smiled. How could he deny such a sweet request? After all, it was not her fault that she was merely a naive student who had not yet learned how the world works.

"Of course. And don't let it get you too down - we all need to find our place in life." he told her and Claire felt the vague inclination to physically rip that smirk from his face (not the most fortunate thought to have when you are about to visit Hannibal Lecter), however, she simply nodded and flashed him an adoring smile.

After he had brought her to the room that held Hannibal's new cell and had left her to herself and the guards, she scowled after him.

Vanity was such an easy thing to manipulate. Claire almost found it an insult to her level of skill.


	12. Dawning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note that I removed Claire's conversation with Hannibal from chapter 11 and put it in this one instead (to distribute the quantities more evenly).

### Dawning

"Hello, Claire." spoke the voice from some distance behind her.

She turned around and walked towards the cell bars. "Hello, Dr. Lecter."

As per usual, he was sitting on his cot with his legs crossed. The trainee took a moment to look at the new cell. It was secluded, as he most likely preferred, and behind him seeped the darkness of night through the window. Although, to call it an actual window would have been a stretch - it was more like a patch of Plexiglas that was secured with bars on the inside and outside of the wall.

"What brings you here tonight?" asked Hannibal.

Claire scoffed. "I think you know exactly what. Fool's gold? Really?"

The other smiled slightly. "So you figured it out. What a pleasant surprise."

She gave him a doubtful look. "Is it, now?"

"Perhaps it is not so much a surprise, but it is pleasant nonetheless." He was silent for a few moments before asking "Did Will Graham help you with it?"

A look of hurt flickered across her face. "I haven't spoken to Mr. Graham since yesterday."

Hannibal cocked his head in genuine interest. "Why not?"

"Well apparently your homework assignment reminded him of the _dangers_ of attachment." Claire replied with a subtle tone of bitterness.

Sensing an opportunity, Hannibal decided not to comment and said instead "I'm curious - if you were on your own with this, what tipped you off?"

This time, Claire snorted. "From the reports I've read I could think of a _few_ things you would like to do to someone like Dr. Chilton. Perhaps eat his liver with a nice glass of red wine. Helping him to fame and fortune is not on the list."

She was rewarded with a soft laugh of deep amusement. "Again, I am pleasantly unsurprised. In fact, after so many nice conversations I would have been sorely disappointed in you had you not been able to tell that much about my person."

The space between them fell silent again. A minute passed before Hannibal said "Though, if I may ask: Why _are_ you here?"

"I still need to find the killer. And Catherine." she replied as though it was obvious.

"Why would you come to me, then, when you already have everything you need to find them?"

Claire shook her head with a frown of confusion. "Because I don't."

"Yes, you do." Hannibal countered. "You have the who, the why and the what. All that is missing now is the where - 'where to look for him?'"

"Can you not just tell me where?" Claire asked.

The other shrugged lightly. "I repeat, I have very little left to tell you that you don't already know. You have all the answers, Claire."

Recognising the new kind of game, she quickly changed her strategy.

"Then help me find the right questions."

With a pleased and satisfied smile, Hannibal said "All right." He stood up, for the first time during their conversations. " _Who_ is he?"

Claire had no idea where this was going, but she decided to play along. She tried to come up with the bits Will and her had been able to piece together. "He's a... white male in his 30's or 40's, a very skilled tailor, with a house of his own... it's someplace rural."

The man nodded. " _Why_ does he do what he does?"

"He desires transformation. To... recreate himself - he's driven by desire." She began pacing before the bars in her efforts to put the profile into words.

"And _what_ does he desire, Claire?"

"The skin of women."

At this, Hannibal raised his eyebrows in mock-surprise. "That is a _terribly_ broad definition, 'the skin of women'..."

Claire sighed in frustration. "The skin of a _few_ women." she corrected herself. Then, however, she went still and a concentrated frown slowly spread on her face. "...Of one particular woman?" she asked eventually.

Hannibal swiftly said "All desire has to start somewhere. And that 'somewhere' is where you will find him. So - where will you look for him, Claire?"

 _'The first victim..!'_ she thought.

Of course, it all seemed so clear to her now. Each victim except the first had lived in a city, where it would be easy to find random prey. Fredrica Bimmel, however, would have been very difficult to find at random in her remote, rural hometown had he not already known her. Buffalo Bill had to be living in Belvedere, Ohio, or very close by. That was 'where'.

As she let these thoughts sink in, she regarded Hannibal with sincere gratitude. "Thank you, Dr. Lecter." she said.

"There is no need to thank me." he replied indifferently. "As I said, you had all the answers."

Claire lingered a few more moments before she finally turned to leave.

"Claire." she heard Hannibal call after her, and she turned around again to find him looking at her with an almost open expression on his face. "You can do this." he reassured her, and she could not shake the feeling that he was being completely honest in that moment.

She nodded slightly, then left the room.

Then again, of course he had been honest - he always was. Hannibal sat down again and pondered the events that were coming his way. He was not worried about Claire, he was convinced she could handle herself just fine when worst came to worst. Just like Abigail had. However, he knew of someone who was very likely not so certain.

It was time for the mongoose to crawl out from under his house.

Once outside the building and far away from the noise, Claire pulled out her phone and called Drew Benson. When he picked up, she spoke in a rush "Mr. Benson? It's me, Claire. Listen, the whole thing with 'Louis Friend' is a ruse, in fact, the killer -"

"Slow down, Claire." the voice on the phone cut her off with a laugh. "We've already figured that part out. We know who he is, Claire. Johns Hopkins came up with a name, one 'Jame Gumb'. He fits all the criteria, down to the descriptions of his appearance that Dr. Lecter gave, he only lied about the name. You did it, we got him." Benson said, and it took Claire a few seconds to realise the true extent of what the other was saying. They had him. Just as she was exhaling her relief and happiness and her face was breaking into a smile, the voice added "We're leaving for Illinois within the hour, so there is plenty time for you to join us. I'll send a car to pick you up at home right away."

Claire's face froze. Illinois? The suspect lived in Illinois? That... was impossible. Of course, between Ohio and Illinois lay only the 140 miles stretch across Indiana, but it was still much, much farther away from Belvedere than the conclusion she had come to told her. Unless she had been wrong. But somehow she couldn't bring herself to believe that Hannibal had misled her - not now, not at this stage in time. Not when everything seemed to fit together so perfectly, like a climax of events he had been observing and influencing from the shadows. Or from behind a one-way mirror.

Then again, who was she to question the FBI? Or Agent Benson? She was, after all, only a trainee. A trainee with zero experience, who had never even worked on a real case before, a trainee _someone_ had picked out simply because they refused to do the job themselves. If the FBI said they had the killer, then the chances that she was right when they were wrong were _marginal_.

Regardless, she had to make a decision, and fast.

"...I can't." she heard her voice spill from her lips. Somewhere she was cursing herself for throwing away the unique opportunity to make a name for herself by actively assisting in the apprehension of Buffalo Bill when she had already come this far, all because of a _hunch_. However, it still felt too odd for her not to investigate. She knew she could not tell Benson to call off the pursuit of the suspect in Illinois because she was having a 'bad feeling about this' that was most likely wrong anyway though, so instead she said "I tripped earlier. I sprained my ankle."

"Are you serious?" came Benson's surprised enquiry.

"Yes, I'm sorry."

"Are you sure you cannot come with us anyway?" he tried.

"I believe I would be more of a hindrance than anything else." Claire replied apologetically. "I would love to come with you, but I can't."

"Well, nothing to be done about it, I suppose..." the other said, sounding far more dejected than a fully grown BSU supervisor should. "See you back in Quantico, Claire."

"Yes, and thank you very much, sir." She let him hang up.

Claire slipped her phone back into her bag as she walked towards her car. The drive from Baltimore to Belvedere would take about seven hours. If she drove now, she would be there by morning.

She briefly entertained the idea of driving by Wolf Trap first to ask Will to come with her but quickly discarded the notion. She was on her own now.


	13. Driven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much for equal distribution of quantities - I had no idea this chapter would turn out to be so long.

### Driven

It was around that same time, around midnight, around the moment he lay in his bed and realised that sleep would not come easily to him that night, that Will Graham decided to get up instead and turn on the TV.

He had purposefully avoided any news for the past two days, thinking he might as well be consistent in his decision to stay away from the case if he had to live with the memory of its repercussion anyway. In and of itself, this had not proven to be difficult, seeing as he had lived most of his life without a need to follow the news (or more accurately, without a need to add virtual people and feelings to his personal space) - however, he had not yet quite managed to shake the nagging feeling of responsibility that bore with it an equally nagging want to know what was going on. For that reason, he gave into the temptation of his weary mind, picked up the remote and situated himself before the TV in the dead of night.

Stubbornness had never required him to be particularly consistent within the bounds of that stubbornness, after all.

Not really expecting the news channel to bring a lot about the Buffalo Bill case, Will was a little shocked to find what he had apparently missed in only two days. A senator's daughter had been kidnapped the day before. Above this though stood that a crucial lead was expected to result in the killer's apprehension within the next twenty-four hours, according to the anchorman. Will only had time to wonder if Claire was the one who had brought it about before he exhaled an amused laugh when it was mentioned that this major breakthrough was accredited to one Frederick Chilton. Right. If it was Chilton, there was no way this 'lead' was real.

Will leant back and kept watching, now finding it an almost decent form of entertainment. The wild-goose chase for 'Louis Friend' would certainly be interesting.

"'Iron sulfide'? Smart one, Hannibal." Will told the lonely house with an ironic smile.

Until but a few seconds later, he felt himself forced to swallow that smile when a question entered his head. When he had been able to see through this right off the bat - what were the chances that Claire had not?

A shadow began to spread within Will.

Pulling a stunt like this one, Hannibal must have known that the time of his being consulted on this case would be over as soon as they'd notice. And so must Claire. It seemed like a very 'now or never' kind of situation, and if Will understood anything about both Hannibal and Claire as well as he thought he did, then it was most definitely a 'now'.

Even so, that did not explain this feeling that unfurled its dark, foreboding tendrils to clutch at his insides. This was simply another step in the investigation, was it not? But no, something... something was amiss. And Will had learned the hard way - as well as multiple times throughout his life - that disregarding the warnings his subconscious sent him was never a good idea, however ambivalent his relationship with it might be. Therefore, despite all the good intentions to stay away from the case, he quickly found himself grabbing his phone, deciding at the last moment to call Drew Benson instead of Claire. He would simply ask about the false lead and make sure that all was well with the investigations and the trainee.

Given that the entire FBI was very likely working overtime tonight, Will was mildly surprised when Benson was able to pick up the phone after it had rung only once. He was also puzzled at the fact that the agent's greeting bore no apparent signs of dismay, despite how abruptly Will had ended their collaboration two days before (a clause he had yet to include in his terms of service).

When he learned that Benson and his team were on their way to Illinois to capture an allegedly real suspect, Will took hardly a second to acknowledge it before asking what was truly on his mind.

"Is Claire with you?"

And so, his blood went rather cold when the answer was "No, she stayed at home. Had to, she says she sprained her ankle."

The empath did not believe that for a moment. Still, unbeknownst to him, he found himself in much the same position Claire had less than an hour prior - he could not tell Benson of his doubts. Ending the conversation as quickly as he could while still remaining polite, Will decided to call the trainee after all.

After getting her voice mail for the third time, he knew there was no way she was at home, even with a sprained ankle. The far more probable - and infinitely more sinister - scenario was that she was driving, her phone in her bag on the backseat where Will had seen her put it often enough during their rides between Quantico and Baltimore. Where she would be driving at this hour and by herself, he did not know. However, it had to be important enough for her to lie to Agent Benson and forego her role in the FBI's investigation, and combined with all that he had gathered from the news, from himself and his perception of Claire on that night, Will had a very clear idea as to _who_ had told her where to go.

=#=#=

When he arrived in Baltimore near the gates of the BSHCI an hour later, Will already felt rather cross about the fact that he was forced to go through this when it was the one thing he had thought he might be spared this once. Adding to the mild unease regarding Claire's safety, his sleep deprived nerves were wearing quite thin. Thus, dealing with Chilton's very _special_ attitude was not what came most effortlessly to Will.

"Oh, Mr. Graham." said the administrator with a flourish and a smirk when he spotted Will pushing through the doors. By now, most of the commotion had dispersed, though there were still a decent number of police officers and reporters present in the reception hall, enough to further aggravate the empath. "Gracing my institution with your presence after all, now that your substitute has done all the work for you and failed at it?"

"Yeah, up yours too, Frederick. I need to talk to Hannibal." he retortet without missing a beat, earning himself a somewhat startled look from Chilton at his uncharacteristic demeanour.

Overcoming his bafflement, the shorter man frowned. "No need for such crudeness; at any rate, it is well past the time for visitors now. If you wish to speak to Dr. Lecter so badly, you may come back in the morning - with more adequate manners, if you please."

All of a sudden, the prospect of becoming a murderer did seem rather inviting to Will. Nevertheless, he breathed calmly and said "I'll repeat this once: I really need to talk to him _now_."

Chilton shot him a mocking, challenging look. "And I repeat: No."

Manners be damned.

Acting on impetus rather than reason, Will gathered all the air he could and yelled "If you don't bring me to him _right now_ , then I want you to think hard about what Hannibal Lecter is capable of and that you're currently messing with the guy who _outmatched him!_ ", his voice reverberating through the hall.

"..."

It took several moments for Chilton to even dare averting his shocked gaze from the livid man in front of him to look around the now dead silent room with wide eyes instead. Everyone still present had turned to stare at them. Not too fond of this sort of attention, the administrator finally muttered to Will "Follow me." before turning to leave for the back of the institution.

Strange, thought Will - usually intimidating others never worked for him when it was intentional.

He followed the other to the requested room where he barked at the two guards to get out, and proceeded to approach the cell.

Behind him, he could hear Chilton tell the dumbfounded men "Just do as he says. If his face gets eaten it's his own fault." and footsteps grew quieter as they exited the room, leaving him to deal with the bane of his existence. A bane whose eyes were lighting up in a most irritating way at the sight of him.

Hannibal waited until the other was within reasonable proximity before he said with a smile "Hello, Will. It's been so long." Studying his face, he added "You've changed."

Only now remembering the scar on his face, Will fought the foreign impulse to turn his head away. He never did this, and he certainly wouldn't start now. Instead, he took another few steps towards the bars with a glare.

"Well, I haven't been particularly _eager_ to present you with the fruits of your labor." he said with a calm voice that carried carefully subdued fury.

"I like it." said Hannibal, unperturbed. "Your face now suits your mind."

"What? Marred and misshapen?" Will asked sarcastically.

"Unique."

Even after all these years, Hannibal still managed to catch Will off guard sometimes. Not sure how to react, the empath chose not to, and allowed a silence to stretch instead. It was the other who broke it first.

"Since you've been so successful in avoiding this visit so far, I'll assume there is a specific reason you came to see me?"

"I want to know where you sent her." Will replied immediately, not even bothering to say who he was referring to. He didn't have to.

"What makes you think I sent her anywhere? She may have gone of her own accord."

"You told her where to find Buffalo Bill."

"As a matter of fact, I did not. She figured it out by herself, albeit with some minor assistance."

"Then tell me where she went."

"If she was able to find out, I'm wondering why you can not."

"Dammit, Hannibal!" Will shouted and closed the gap between himself and the bars to slam his palm against one of them. "I don't have the time for your games! I have to find her _before_ she gets herself killed."

Hannibal merely regarded him and his sincere distress for a minute. Rationally speaking, there was no reason for Will to believe Claire's life was in immediate danger. Even if she encountered the killer - which Hannibal very much expected her to do - she had a gun, she had her FBI training in mind. He had previously sent Will to dispose of killers far less prepared than she was, and the empath had always prevailed. Then again, Hannibal knew exactly why the other felt so desperate to protect her.

"Perhaps she is stronger than we think." he finally replied, reminiscent of when he had spoken those same words about Abigail more than seven years ago.

"Don't you even dare." Will shot him a heated glare as he curled his fingers tighter around the bars. With a decisive glint, he added "You will tell me where she is. Now."

Moments later, Hannibal rose from his cot. With slow, steady steps he approached the bars. Will thought about stepping away himself, seeing how proximity always held a certain threat when a cannibalistic serial killer was involved. However, he refused to let Hannibal experience the day when he would back down from him, least of all on this night. So instead, he simply continued to stare at the other and allowed him to come closer, closer until he had well entered Will's personal space.

Mere inches apart from him now, Hannibal muttered, with unrivalled ease "If I tell you and you go there, I can not guarantee your safety. In the end, I might have to blame myself for your death and then what would I do?"

This was as much mockery as it was allure - Hannibal did not think Will would get killed any more than he thought Claire would, but it served as a reminder of their strange bond. This was ludicrous. Hannibal seemed to defy any logic of human behaviour. It should not have been possible for the fondness in his words to be real, nevertheless Will knew that it was. Unflinchingly, Will looked up at him with determined eyes. "Do I look like I care?" he articulated.

Whereupon, Hannibal smiled. "Yes. You look like you care. But not about the part regarding your safety."

Another many moments passed spent in tense silence when Will refused to react to that statement in any way. Eventually, Hannibal broke the gaze, lowering it instead, and Will followed his eyes to the notepad and pen he had brought along and tucked fairly visibly inside his front pocket.

He moved no muscle when Hannibal slowly raised his hands and reached through the bars with the clear intent to take them, despite the very imminent possibility of danger. Not out of trust (never that), but out of a mutual silent agreement that neither of them would die tonight.

As Hannibal drew the objects from Will's front pocket, he was able to feel the empath's courageous heart gently beating beneath his fingertips. How strong it felt. Reestablishing their eye contact and holding Will's gaze throughout the entire procedure, he swiftly but gracefully wrote one single word onto the paper. When he was done, he slipped the pen back into the other's pocket and offered the notepad for Will to take.

Will briefly looked down to confirm what had been written before he defiantly raised his eyes to the other's again. "If you're looking for a 'thank you' you can wait a long time for that." he said, doing his best to convey venomous contempt.

As to be expected, however, Hannibal didn't care much about that.

"Gratitude is a form of submission." he said with a soft smile. "I would never want to see you submit to me over something so trivial, dear Will."

Will stayed as he was for a few more seconds before he took several steps backwards (silent agreement or not, he still had the common sense not to turn his back on Hannibal Lecter when he was within striking distance), turned, and left, hurrying to follow the trainee.

He never noticed - for how could he? - that the clip of his pen had gone missing.

=#=#=

Will was still most of an hour's drive from Belvedere when the sun slowly crawled above the horizon on this winter morning.

This wasn't good. He knew Claire wouldn't have investigated while it was still dark out, but from now on the clock was ticking. Beside him on the passenger seat lay forgotten the notepad with the word 'Belvedere' neatly written across it. Will was alternating between anger with himself and anger with Claire. He felt downright _stupid_ for not figuring out on his own that the killer must have had a personal connection with the first victim. Then, he thought the trainee foolish and reckless for going by herself, which, in turn, caused him to feel furious at himself for being the one to blame in that.

His mind was working at full speed and capacity as he drove, simultaneously swinging the pendulum for Claire and for the killer, trying on the one hand to figure out which paths Claire was likely to take in her investigations and on the other where the killer was likely to come across her. She would look inside the victim's house, searching for clues. He would still be at home, he had an abductee to keep from dying too soon. She would start talking to people who knew the first victim. They would eventually lead her to a house. He would be inside that house. She would knock, he would let her in.

She would find out.

He would...

Will shook his head. This was not the thing to be thinking right now. Most importantly, the empath knew he had the advantage of not having to undergo the same hopefully lengthy conversations with the people that Claire did - he simply needed to ask them where the stranger had gone.

He arrived in Belvedere not much more than half an hour later, having sped the remaining distance. Taking the gun he kept in his car, he rather hastily - yet still careful to stay accurate - began to retrace Claire's steps through the small town. Soon he stood before a house allegedly belonging to a Mrs. Lippman. It was remote, and Will somehow knew immediately that this was it. This was the house that harboured Buffalo Bill. The latest victim. And Claire.

Will had been quick. But not quick enough.

No sooner had he finished this thought than his blood froze, as did his body, when he heard gunshots echoing from inside. Not thinking twice, he drew his gun and kicked in the door, immediately searching the rooms. He heard soft noises coming from downstairs. Will ran as quickly as his body let him.

He ran, he was running hot, his mind a blur of feverish, incomplete thoughts, of guilt and what-ifs. Will ran.

Until.

Until, like a drop falling into water, his sight was cleared for him. Time seemed to slow down around itself as he entered the room in which Claire was standing over the dying body of Buffalo Bill, her gun still held out before her with viciously trembling hands and arms. She was breathing harshly, heavily and her gaze was disoriented. And all of a sudden, Will was no longer himself, but looking at himself. Looking at the Will Graham that had, seven years prior, ended up in much the same state after taking the life of Garret Jacob Hobbs. The event that had marked the beginning of anything he was today. He regretted that Claire had to go through this. At the same time, he didn't.

"Claire?" he tentatively asked.

She whipped around, noticing him only now, and in her jumpy condition she raised the gun to shakily aim it at the unknown intruder. Will immediately took a step back.

"Don't shoot! Calm down, it's me."

It took Claire's unfocused eyes several seconds to even recognise him. When she did, the strength that the shock had given her body appeared to leave it in a violent surge, leaving her knees to buckle beneath her. Will caught her before she hit the ground.

"It's alright. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm here. It's alright." Will repeated to her over and over and over again as he put his arms tightly around her for comfort. Claire, in turn, clung to him in her wide-eyed paralysis, struggling to breathe. With time, the fear and adrenaline gave way and she began to sob softly as the empath continued his soothing mantra.

Somewhere in the distance, Will could hear Catherine shouting for them to get her out of there, but he really could not be bothered right now. Judging by the way she was able to yell and cuss, she was not in immediate risk of dying anyway.

"He... he turned out the lights." Claire eventually uttered shakily when she had calmed down enough to speak. "He wanted to make me feel powerless again." She pulled away slightly to raise her strong, guilty, frightened eyes to Will's, and whispered,

"I took that power back."

Will regarded her for a few moments before he sighed in sad understanding.

"I know." he said. "I know you did. It's alright, come."

He tucked her head back underneath his chin and remained like this for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more to go. I apologise for the one-week hiatus but I felt like this was a really, really important chapter to the story, so I'll admit that I felt a little intimidated by it.


End file.
